


Good Intentions

by Rhianne



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Episode: s01e10 Vital Signs, Gen, Gen Fic, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 19:40:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhianne/pseuds/Rhianne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene for season one's Vital Signs, when Neal is caught in Dr Powell's office. </p><p>It's always bothered me in this episode that when Neal is discovered by the nurses, he makes no attempt to try and talk his way out of it. I mean, he's meant to be a conman, and yet he just stands there and says nothing and lets them strap him to a gurney and drug him! So, this is my attempt to try and explain it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Intentions

Sending the fax was a desperate, last-ditch attempt to call for help that he knew would come too late - if it came at all. There had been dust on the fax machine... dust in a house Elizabeth kept clean as a show home, a sure sign that it wasn't used much.

He didn't even recall how he knew the number...

But then the orderlies were there, slamming him into the wall with a force that said they enjoyed their jobs a little too much, spinning him away from his only link to the outside world. 

The protest that he was sending a fax for Dr Powell was only meant to be a stall - to give him the brief seconds he would need to come up with something better. Something believable. 

He was Neal Caffrey - he could sell lightswitches to the Amish, remember? He could think of a story more convincing a favor for a Doctor.

Only...he couldn't.

As they manhandled him onto the gurney, as they strapped him down and kept him quiet with the ease of men who'd done this a hundred times before, Neal's mind was uneasily blank.

No witty rejoinder, no simple yet reasonable tale of what he was doing there - not even a pithy comeback to show that he wasn't afraid.

Because he was. He was deathly afraid of the men in the room. He wasn't stupid. The good Doctor could never pull off everything he was doing on his own, he needed help. Strong, muscular help that asked no questions, followed orders and drugged strangers and did as they were told despite the fact that he was perfectly calm, that he was clearly not a patient here, that he was already tied down. There was no reason at all for them to knock him out.

No-one knew he was here. They'd stopped the fax before it could finish sending and it was the middle of the day anyway. Even if any part of it had reached its destination Peter would be at the FBI till late, like always, and Neal doubted El would know enough about Jimmy Berger to raise the alarm. 

By the time anyone thought to check his anklet he'd be long gone from here, his body discarded in a dumpster, in the river, or perhaps the latest organ donor for one of Powell’s rich clients. 

What would a Caffrey kidney be worth on the open market, anyway? 

God, he'd been crazy to come here. Moz had always said his impulsive nature would be the death of him. 

Neal knew he needed to try and get the attention of someone in this place who wasn't crooked, anyone who he could talk into releasing him, or just make enough noise that other people finally, finally started asking questions. 

He was Neal Caffrey - used to thinking on his feet and spinning tales out of fairy dust, conning the most cynical, world-weary people into believing in magic with a smile and a sleight of hand.

But what if he succeeded? Even if he managed to attract people’s attention and get out of here with both his kidneys intact he’d just be headed straight back to a prison cell.

Breaking and entering, trespassing – whatever the misdemeanor it was still going to be enough for the judge to pull his parole, and he'd do the rest of his sentence in an 8 x 6 cell, under 24 hour watch to make sure he didn't run again. 

He’d done it before. Almost four years in maximum security, but then he’d been Caffrey the charmer, able to sweet-talk his way out of any trouble with a smile and a quip, quickly gaining a reputation as a go-to guy who could find a way to get you anything you needed. 

This time round he’d be little more than an FBI informant – a traitor – and he knew exactly what would be in store for him with that particular millstone round his neck.

No amount of charm would save him. 

He couldn't go back.

So Neal stayed quiet, didn’t protest, and watched in resignation as the nurse prepared the needle. One last, feeble quip was all he could come up with to keep up the pretense that he wasn't crazy, that he wasn't scared, that he wasn't so far out of his depth he was drowning in it.

The needle pinched as it went in, driven through his skin too fast and too hard, only a cursory thumb across his forearm acting as any small sign that the woman was even a real, trained nurse. 

The needle was so long Neal half expected the metal shard to come out the other side, but as the plunger pressed down he could feel the shock of ice-cold running through his veins, traveling up his arm and spreading a strange, pervading numbness across his body which made it difficult to care that he was all out of options.

He pressed his head back against the pillow, a mute protest as the ceiling began to spin around him, the room whirling and rushing like he was Dorothy in the tornado, spinning away to see the Wizard and dance in ruby slippers. 

As the darkness rushed in like an unstoppable tide, Neal’s final wish was that, whatever happened now, he wouldn’t be found. That Peter wouldn’t ever know he’d run, that he’d gone behind his back, even if he’d only been doing it for the right reasons.


End file.
